


Language of Passion & Love

by Teharissa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Banter, But They Don't Play a Big Enough Role to Be Tagged, But not unhealthy or toxic jealousy, Chaotic Good, Cute, Feel-good, First Dates, Fluff, France Being France (Hetalia), Getting Back Together, Holding Hands, I should not tag that out of context, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Literally the rest of the cast is so confused, Love, M/M, Old Friends, Other Characters Mentioned/Present, Sweet, Tsundere England (Hetalia), World Meeting (Hetalia), not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21520354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teharissa/pseuds/Teharissa
Summary: French was, quite possibly, the most annoying language Arthur had the privilege of hearing.Arthur is very much in love with Francis. He always has been, no matter how much his mind is set on denying that fact. And it's at moments like these, while Francis is eying up someone else, that Arthur feels it the most. Because jealousy, in most people, is an ugly thing. And Arthur is jealous. But all it truly yields is a slight embarrassment for those involved and a date. Arthur couldn't ask for more. (Except, you know, not for everyone to witness the whole thing. But semantics.)Or in which, there is a world meeting, Francis is admiring Antonio's ass, Arthur is stewing in his own tsundere thoughts, and everyone else questions the sanity that is the on-off relationship between Francis and Arthur.
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	Language of Passion & Love

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Hetalia.

French was, quite possibly, the most annoying language Arthur had the privilege of hearing. Which said a lot, actually, considering he frequently put up with Vlad’s incessant Romanian, and had been in the unfortunate position of being a brother to the living personification of the Irish.

Still, no matter how grating Arthur found other languages, French would--dare he say it?--always be the most annoying. It would be annoying in its beauty, in the way that the very sound of such grand and delicate words would bring to mind the certain face that caused all his problems. It was a face that despite its obnoxious presence, was well defined, with high cheekbones and an attractive nose. Arthur had had the privilege of memorizing the features of such a face. Sometimes it would be cleanly shaved, but more often than not, an unfortunately attractive stubble would be on prominent display. The eyes were always glimmering with some intent--whether mischevious or simply flirtatious, they never failed to catch Arthur’s eye. They were pretty eyes. Long lashes, a natural lift at the corners. Decorated with finely shaped eyebrows, they were quite stunning.

So yes. Arthur felt that French was an abomination that should not exist, lest it bring to mind the face of, in his own words, perhaps the most irritating bitch to ever grace this planet. 

Nevermind that Francis was attractive in his own right, that they’d had relations of intimacy before, and that somehow Arthur couldn’t get his mind off of them. Nevermind that Francis was the one person who’d seen him at his worst, a place even Alfred hadn’t seen, for he was too young and foolish. Nevermind that Arthur found himself foolishly drawn to him time and time again.

Nevermind the fact that Francis was currently sitting next to him at a world meeting, his pen idly tapping an open notebook, and gaze fixed in the most disgusting way towards _Antonio_ of all people. If asked, Arthur would fully deny jealousy. He’d also deny the fact that he knew Francis well enough to know when he was checking someone out.

Of course, there were other things he could be focusing on right now. The Italy brothers were hosting the meeting this time, though their combined ineptitude and general clashing of personalities had made the meeting chaotic in its own right, even setting aside the silently mouthed argument between Matthias and Lukas, as well as Heracles sleeping on Sadiq’s shoulder openly. All of this held major gossip points, and any other day, seated next to any other person, Arthur might have found himself at least borderline intrigued.

Today, all he could think about was France. His hair was tied back with a ribbon, and his clothes were--as usual--perfectly fitted and attractive. And his gaze was focused on Antonio’s firmly shaped ass in a way that Arthur did not appreciate. 

It grew unbearable, really. They were only two hours into the dreadful meeting when Arthur felt himself snap. He’d held himself together for an impressively long time, actually, and his calm was only broken when he heard Francis murmur quietly under his breath.

“I’d very much love to see him splayed under me, yes.”

Francis’s eyes had gone a little bit starry at this concession, and Arthur nearly snapped his pencil in half. This was where he’d lost control. This was when Arthur had stood, abruptly, in the middle of the meeting, and slammed his hands onto the desk.

“France, you’re a bloody git. I hate your guts and your stupid hair, and I hope you die. Now get up, because we’re going on a stupid date.”

He said it louder than he had intended.

Francis had looked up at him with a remote surprise, that quickly faded to amusement. Everyone else, however--well, Arthur felt himself burn slightly under their gaze. Perhaps it would have been better if he had waited until after the meeting, or just never spoken at all and left things the way they were.

He never was good at that last part. First with his enjoyment of fucking up the world, and now with Brexit--but nevermind his stupid, irresponsible choices, he had better things to do. Like flush with embarrassment as attention was turned on him, and to grab Francis’s arm--hauling him out of his chair and dragging him towards the door.

It was borderline kidnapping, but Francis didn’t struggle, and in fact, had jogged to keep up with his pace as they walked. Arthur refused to look at him because, if he knew anything about Francis from the years they’d spent together, it was that he’d be smug at this moment. There was no point in looking when he knew exactly the smirk that tugged at Francis’s lips, as well as the flirtatious narrowing of his eyes. Francis changed, sure, but never enough that Arthur couldn’t read him.

“I see, Angleterre, that you have found that you can’t resist your feelings for me. I truly am that seductive, non?”

Arthur didn’t respond, thankful that at this point they’d long since left the meeting room, where prying ears could be avoided. Not that gossip could be--he could almost see Elizabeta and Feliks trading words and hushed speculations. But that was unable to be avoided, so Arthur let himself have peace of mind and simply forget.

Francis had taken Arthur’s lack of response as a chance to keep talking.

“I should have known no one could resist my beauty. Not even someone as stubborn and blind as you.”

Arthur bristled.

“I am not stubborn, nor am I blind! You’re just a narcissist who clearly can’t see himself properly in a mirror.”

“Sure, sure,” Francis dismissed, waving his hand as he pressed the downwards button for the elevator. They waited casually, though Arthur let his grip on Francis’s arm loosen up, and instead let his hand drift back to his own side. “Still, you can’t protest the fact that you couldn’t resist me.”

That wasn’t...entirely wrong. Arthur let out a small curse, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on that of the numbers above the elevator.

“Or maybe I just got sick of you eye-fucking Spain in there,” Arthur retorted, “I never thought I’d see something so gross in my life, but then again, you never cease to surprise me.”

His jealousy must have shown through. Arthur wouldn’t have even brought it up if he wasn’t jealous still, bitter perhaps. Francis must know as well. He always did--he could read Arthur, as well as Arthur could read him.

“Spain has quite the body, does he not?” Francis asked as the elevator let out its soft ding, before opening to grant them both entrance. “But surely you know that he never could match you.”

Those words were spoken with the familiar lilt of genuinity, Francis’s voice still holding that smug amusement, but spoken with just slightly more pauses, and with just a little more attention given to enunciating each word.

“Oh really,” Arthur huffed slightly, “You’re such a sap.”

“Yes, but you love that about me.”

“I don’t recall ever loving that part of you, no.”

“That’s not what you said some century or two ago.”

The banter was something Arthur could handle. Even somewhat embarrassing banter such as this fell well within the lines of normalcy. And, even though his heart beat a little louder and a little more insistently than usual, he at least knew it was only due to the proximity he held to Francis, rather than the jealousy that had engulfed him only moments before. Francis had a way of assuaging his fear, perhaps because of the truthfulness behind what he said, and partially due to his easy adjustment to flirting with Arthur.

Francis was a lot of things. But over the years, Arthur had learned that if Francis was very much an exclusive person. If a relationship was explicit, no matter if it was exclusive yet, Francis remained loyal. He always had. Some had taken him for unfaithful, but Arthur knew better.

Hell, Francis only truly let himself sleep around when he wasn’t within a firmly set relationship, and the last time he and Arthur had dated had been some time seventy years ago. They never could be separated for long--Arthur had to resist to smile at that. There was something about their relationship that never ceased to change, no matter how long or hard things became.

The elevator arrived at the lobby. Francis paused within their banter, smiling slyly, before holding a hand to Arthur.

“If you’d please, I’d like to escort such a gentleman to a lovely cafe I know. May I?”

Arthur flushed. Yet still, he let his own hand slide into Francis’s. It was warm and larger than his own, yet they seemed to fit together as they intertwined. They always would fit together. It was a fact that would never change, even as time wore on both of them.

“I thought I was the one who asked you out. Shouldn’t I choose the location?”

Francis laughed.

“Trust me, that wasn’t asking me anywhere. You practically kidnapped me,” Francis bent to kiss Arthur’s hand, “Besides, anywhere you choose I’d have to question my health. No, you must believe me on this, I know the perfect spot.”

Arthur meant to bristle, but eventually, he settled on rolling his eyes and letting out a good-natured sigh.

“Fine, fine. We’ll go to your clearly inferior location,” Arthur said, “But it better be good, France, or I won’t ever forgive you.”

Francis laughed again, taking the words as they were meant to be taken. He coaxed Arthur towards the large glass doors of the entrance, not speaking again until they had left the office building, and instead face to face with the sunlit city of Venice.

“It will be better than good,” Francis said, “It is both approved by me, and South Italy. It is a quaint place too. You will like it, I guarantee that.”

Arthur squeezed Francis’s hand as they walked.

“Alright, I’m sure I will. If you like it, it must have something redeeming about it.”

He went quiet a moment.

“I missed this. Don’t take it too close to heart, but I rather missed you, France.”

Francis looked at him, and his expression softened into something more. He squeezed Arthur’s hand back, and something about the gesture felt intimate.

“Ah, I agree, Angleterre. Tu me manques aussi, chéri. Beaucoup.”

Arthur, if asked, would say that French was the most annoying language he’d had the privilege of hearing. But, he’d add, oftentimes with a sour and embarrassed expression, it was the most beautiful he’d ever heard too.

**Author's Note:**

> In writing this, it came to my attention that genuinity is not a word, and then I promptly said fuck the English language and used it anyway because seriously, the hell? It genuinely (ha, see what I did there) makes sense as a word, and should be part of the language. Someone, please make a petition to make this part of the official dictionary because I am pissed.
> 
> Oh, also, I love this pairing to death and had way too much fun writing this. I hope you enjoyed! And I truly hope I got their characterizations down. Halfway through I started to doubt myself, but I really like this, so I posted it anyway.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Language of Passion & Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21993511) by [GwenChan Pods (GwenChan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwenChan/pseuds/GwenChan%20Pods)




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